by Kate Squires
It's a Tuesday night; outside, on the sleepy streets of Beaumaris, it's wintery and almost supernaturally dark.
Step inside the doors of the theatre, and it's a different world. Every common area hums with action, collaboration and laughter. This is one of the many rehearsals for the inaugural Beaumaris Theatre Monologue Festival. For three hours, a colourful crew of creatives flit through the building, each bringing to life a unique story.
Tonight, the foyer echoes with giggles. Alarna Summers and Victoria Hill are working on Alarna's monologue, Flattering. Victoria wears a white tulle skirt, and she crumples to the ground, giving an eerily accurate and wildly funny impression of a three-year-old throwing a tantrum. She and Alarna sprawl on the floor and animatedly debrief the scene. Although there are elements of comedy in the script, at its heart, it is a tale that cuts close to the bone for so many women; the battle to be seen as more than just our dress sizes.
Victoria Hill in Flattering, written and directed by Alarna Summers
Inside the theatre, Mason Frost stalks the stage as Stuart Anderson's eponymous Villain. His director, Natasha Rayner sits on a single chair in the centre of the hall, watching Mason's flawless delivery of the complex wording; the two of them are attempting to build a world of fantasy for the audience, with nothing more than Stuart's script, a single chair, and a wine goblet. As other cast and crew members pass through the hall, they stop and stare, seemingly transfigured by the effortless delivery.
Mason Frost in Villain by Stuart Anderson, directed by Natasha Rayner
In the green room, Harry Brammall rants about a green door, as Paula Armstrong directs from the couch. Louise Hopewell's Homecoming tells the tale of a woman with a plan to get back the happiness she gave away, and Harry embodies the character of Fiona as she bemoans her choice to follow an internet fling in golden budgie smugglers to Queensland.
Harry Brammall in Homecoming by Louise Hopewell, directed by Paula Armstrong
Speaking of gold, Emma Stewart is in the dressing rooms with her writer/director, Kate Squires. The two women are coordinating gilded accessories for Emma's role as Hera, the ancient Greek goddess, including a golden staff, headpiece, belt, sandals and shawl. The script is a modern take on Hera and Zeus' toxic relationship, and both Emma and Kate take the responsibility of retelling the tale seriously, engaging in an animated discussion about whether or not the old gods would keep up with the latest celebrity gossip, like a grandmother reading a trashy magazine.
Emma Stewart in Olympus Divorce Court Hearing: Zeus vs Hera written and directed by Kate Squires
Backstage, Production Coordinator, Lynda French, arranges ten sets of diverse props: everything from a wheelchair to an office suite, a hat stand to an ornate set of justice scales. She pauses to graciously answer questions from the performers and crew, while gathering information about music introductions and updated bios, all with a smile.
Festival Director, Andy Payne, overlooks all the activity from the back of the theatre. If the festival is a dance, Andy is the choreographer. With a quiet smile or a gentle word of encouragement, Andy is there to guide and inspire. As the instigator of the festival's origins, Andy is responsible for both the madness and the magic happening around him.
Rehearsals rotate each hour; soon, a new round of performers cycles through, bringing more wild characters; Emma Blake's bonkers beautician, Claire Ryan Ruberu's ashamed arachnophobe, a maniac mother from the pen of Paula Armstrong. Behind the scenes, sound and lighting and staging are all working to create the platform for these stories to be told, each volunteer adding their gifts into the mix.
As we slip through the doors of the theatre and back into the night, there is a sense of leaving something special that can't be defined as simply an event or a group of people. It is a coalescing of creativity and community for a moment of pure brilliance for two lucky audiences, moved to laughter and tears by the talents of everyone involved.